


The Blood Society Imolti

by MercadesCage



Category: Angels - Fandom, Demons - Fandom, Erotica - Fandom, Lichen - Fandom, Vampires - Fandom, apocalypse - Fandom, mercenaries - Fandom, shifter - Fandom
Genre: Multi, Other
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-02-27
Updated: 2019-02-28
Packaged: 2019-11-06 20:24:10
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Major Character Death
Chapters: 3
Words: 6,173
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/17946512
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/MercadesCage/pseuds/MercadesCage
Summary: I've been writing since I was 11 years old.There are stories that I've written that will never be read by eyes other than mine, and it has been this way for many years.Now I'm grown, I'm aware that the worlds I imagine that have helped me through difficult times may do something like that for a stranger, maybe keep them alive like they did me.So, here I am, and here you are, what you are about to read is a test for me, a small peice of a world I have been dreaming up in my head since I was 15.Nearly almost 20 years later, I think it's time I let someone else follow me down.May this help you, even in some small, fleeting way, to step out of your pain and into some imagined peace.Even if only for just right now.Ready?





	1. The pain is mine

**Author's Note:**

> This is the first book in a huge four part series of stories titled The Blood Society.
> 
> I've been working on this for the better part of 2 years, 10 minutes here and there when I hear these characters speak to one another as if they are in the room with me.
> 
> I will post the first, Imolti, and add chapters as I translate them from rough draft to slightly less rough here.  
> (Aka expect some errors and my advanced apology for them)
> 
> The series surrounds demons, angels, vampires, lichens and shifters.
> 
> If you have issues with blood, sex, death, violence, manipulation, and other sorted actions I'd advise you to move on.
> 
> There is a lot of realism in this unreality and it can be painful at times.
> 
> I know it's been painful to write, and yet I can't stop, masochist addict am I.
> 
>  
> 
> Rayne - Lennie James  
> Wayland - Trent Reznor  
> Damian - Bo Burnham  
> Cillian - Cillian Murphy  
> Idony - Sofie Marceau  
> Lehn- Alexander skarsgard  
> Remme - Liev Schreiber  
> Sirus (mercades father) - Michael wincott  
> Mercades - Mia wasikowska  
> David - Hugh Dancy  
> Uahl - Jamie Campbell Bower  
> Phet - Michael Pitt  
> Kort- Kodi smidt-mcphee  
> Tetra- Keke Palmer  
> Sentil- Amandla Stenberg  
> Palchuk- Daniel Brühl  
> Gallo - Mark Strong  
> Vincent - Mads mikkleson  
> Ebram Brackus - Djimon hounsou  
> Mirabel - lily Cole  
> Oliver - Matt Smith  
> Julian - Gaspard Ulliel

Nine inch nails  
Ghosts 2

Loud.

Above her, the ceiling.

The rumble of disorder, of feet falling awkwardly, of bodies dropping.

Thuds.

She's awake and it's like when you fall in a dream and jolt upright, only she's waking in the nightmare.

Her hair stubble, fingertip calluses peeling.

In iso for a month, no need for them to shave her head, acid dip her prints.

She's sallow, and concentration camp looking in her grey prison scrubs, but now, she looks more alive than, maybe she ever has.

Today is the day.

She's flashing her eyes around, the door.

It's open.

Just a crack, and she's wasting no time, up on her bare beet, running in the silent way soldiers are taught.

The door from the outside shows her wide right eye, people are not on this floor any longer.

No one alive.

She sees two bodies so far, one flat out face down on the white linoleum hall, another have in a cell half out.

 _They tried to run back in,_ her mind notes but doesn't dwell.

Today's the day.

Out the door, into the Hall, running.

Soft foot falls for how fast she flies.

Around the first body, over the second.

Trying to remember to breathe while she runs.

The elevators dinging, her eyes dilate as she glances at it then spins, tucking into the stairwell. Knowing it opened just as the stairwell door closed softly.

She isn't done.

Up, still have to cross another hall, up another set of stairs till she's there.

Hoping she won't see anyone who attempts to stop her, not wanting to kill anyone anymore.

Except him.

The glass in the door for the 3rd floor is smashed in a spiderweb pattern, she has to put her body near to peek through.

More dead, more blood.

She feels nothing.

Today is the day.

She's opening the door after being sure she felt or heard nothing alive or moving and has to make the long run to the other end to the final stairwell.

Her feet cold and tapping on the linoleum.

Her fingers curling as she pushes herself, light-headed from malnutrition, trying be steady and strong like before.

She's not looking down directly, using peripherals to avoid the dead.

She doesn't keep her eyes up from pain, those that are gone, they are lucky.

They feel no pain.

The door is so close, letting herself focus on it, not the goal, but the way point, nearly there.

As she's about to leap over another lifeless form and grab the handle it jumps, puffs open and she jumps back on instinct, so fast she can taste her heart beat.

She long blinks as her brain registers this is what the door always does when someone on a higher floor has slammed another door.

_Do it now_

She grabs the handle and pulls, the hair on her neck up, her spine straight and her mouth open.

Looking up, during this few second window where those above can not see her, she leans out and tilts her head up, waiting.

She waits to hear guns being husked and reloaded, boots treading, radio static or chirps.

Instead…

“Hurry.” It's hushed, familiar.

She rushes out and up the steps, turning to look into the man's eyes who sat at the foot of her bed in regular cells every night for as long as she can remember.

His eyes meet hers, time stills.

He says everything with one look.

It's over, it's started while you were sleeping, I heard them coming, I was coming for you.

She looks back with her own message.

It's one he's always feared.

“It doesn't have to end like this." He snaps, hushed on anger and fear.

The children behind him, some bleeding, most silently weeping, are fresh crop for this place.

Killers in training.

He is the Shepherd leading them through the valley of death.

They are too smart to not be afraid.

She looks at him, trying to push back to him a silent gratefulness for everything, for him, and then, “Where?”

The dark skinned man stares unblinking, his chin pinches fast, letting go of the idea she might help him lead those with him to safety.

He knew better.

Still hoped.

“On the roof, with the boy.”

She's looking up, not seeing anything before her now, just what lies ahead.

She starts to move, Rayne puts his hand before her, in it is a silver magnum.

She looks down, palms the handle and turns it.

The initials carved, C.C.

Not hers.

Her sisters.

Her sister, who once, lying in a hospital bed after another failed overdose, had told her to kill herself.

She had looked at her sister, and didn't ask why.

“How?” she had asked.

Carolyn is Lucky.

She feels no more pain.

The kids on the stairs move aside as she starts racing up, the man, Rayne, looks back just a moment longer, ghosts, “Good-bye Marilyn.”

Unsure she heard him, he moves on, broken children in tow, does not know where to go or how long they'll last.

Feet cold on the concrete steps, hitting them so fast and hard she feels them grate her skin, she hopes he outlives her, but is grateful she doesn't get to know.

She did hear.

She says her own goodbye as the door puffs open before her, signalling to her the last moment she was close to him alive.

Passing the door that's now shutting again, up, to the final door, body quivering now so intensely she wants a moment still her pulse, doesn't have one, and hopes she can stay conscious to finish.

There, the metal door before her, the only difference between this and the others is it holds no glass.

No preview of waiting on the other side.

Today is the day

And the blood rushes down her face and to her toes.

_Do it now_

Knob in hand, door flung wide, cutting sharply, back to the door frame she edges out.

There, on the roof with the gun that matches the one in her hand he stands, waiting for her.

Her gun immediately lowers.

The boy is on his knees.

Gun at the back of his head, he's bloody, he fought.

She walks forward slowly, eyes narrow and feral.

“You told.” His voice is set, it's not angry, it's mania is subdued and he's clearly off.

She steps slowly then stops, never looking away from him, not even to look at the boy.

“Who did you tell?”

She feels something rise within her and it startles because it's not bravery but confession.

“I did everything you asked.”

The man's chin length hair is stuck to his face with blood.

Not sure whose.

“Foul, fucking things.”

She's weeping silently now, can't stop.

Won't.

The man is watching her curiously

The boy is too.

Watching, waiting.

She's backing up to the edge of the roof, feels the lip getting near.

He looks at her with his lips parted, “The world is full of foul things, you were one of those cleaning it up. How did you do it? Did you leave something for them to find?”

She's staring at him in a way he's never felt before and he knows it's endgame now.

"I started killing them, so you couldn't cook them."

She says almost proud, and he tilts his head.

Her heels hit the lip and he smiles, "How did it feel?"

His expression.

Nostalgic.

The boy lunges and grabs the gun, he struggles but gets it away from his captor fast, doesn't know who to point it at.

The man steps back, smiling, her eyes are wide but not with fear.

What's left to be afraid of?

"Shoot him, then me."

She says fast gives him the best option.

He points the gun quickly at the man but keeps his eyes on both, "Tell him how he got here."

The boy stiffens at the memory, "I know how I got here."

“Tell him you killed his family Mercades.”

The boy exhales deep, sucker punched.

She sees him reeling, can't let him loose it.

"He's working you. Focus. him, then me."

The boy shakes his head, "I want the truth."

She stares him down, "it doesn't matter-”

"It matters to me!!!" His voice carriers, it echoes in her chest, her ribs tighten.

He deserves to know.

He does.

But- "Alex-" She's trying to sound reasonable, instead it's like weak begging.

"Tell me the fucking truth or I'll shoot you first."

His eyes are hard, he's aware he will not be walking away from this.

This is when she looks like she'll cry, shaking her head, "I can't die without knowing."

Sheis begging now.

She's not begging for her own life, but to make sure the nightmare is over.

She can't did first.

Has to know.

“I can't either." Alex weeps, and she breathe out.

"You won't believe me." It's weak and Alex just stares, she looks at him levelly,

"Your father and sister were collateral, your mother was having an affair with a senator and he didn't want it getting out. She was pregnant."

"You killed her?" Alex's voice choked, eyes wet.

Mercades looks him dead in the eye,

"Yes."

Not I'm sorry.

Not it was fast, she didn't feel a thing.

Just yes.

And then… “Please.”

Looking to her father then back to him, her eyes.

They are fathomless.

They say all.

And he sees.

That she never wanted it, has been ready to die a long while, he understands.

Knows just what to do.

He shoots the man in the head and then just as he falls, and she watches him drop, thinking to herself no, no one more, he's not dead, she flashes her eyes up and sees Alex swallow the barrel.

Shedoesn't scream.

In her shoulders, chest, throat and heart she feels the shot and the cringe isn't just physical.

Alex Alan Ryte is gone.

Her eyes hold him, burn the image into her brain and she sees her father move.

He needed another bullet.

She's running after getting her body and mind to connect again and she feels her father try and snatch her leg, she's got the gun and goes up to him, muzzle pointed at his head,

"I didn't kill your mother."

Mouth full of blood, eyes not begging but needing to be heard.

He's no fool.

Nothing will change this.

She wants to say, yes you did, but it doesn't come out.

She just looks him blank and pulls the trigger.

Finishing the job.

She's walking past him, to the top of the lip of the building, hearing Carolyn, in her hospital bed, tied down.

"If I could, you know what I would do? Find the tallest thing to climb and jump."

Mercades telling her, "What if it didn't kill you?"

Carolyn, "It would hurt, but the pain would be mine."

She's holding the gun, barrel still hot, considering swallowing it, then instead, tilts her chin up and looks at the sky.

The pain is mine.

The echo of the gunshot rings out, her body falls with the limbs trailing limp in odd directions and finds the ground with a soft thud.

Unmoving, the blood obscured by her hair, she could be sleeping.

Let's leave her asleep.

 

In the woods, watching, is her future.

Her immortality.

We see and hear foot falls.

Something that looks like a man, but is not, has been waiting.

Is here at just this moment for this very reason.

He will not let her sleep.

For now, she is unaware.

For now, she feels nothing.

Just as she always wanted.

Kneeling beside her, this creature is thinking.

Not long, then he's sliding his arms under her frame.

Standing, her body crushed and open, he walks her into the woods, away from the nightmare and into a new one.

Today is the day.


	2. Remade

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Rayne - Lennie James  
> Wayland - Trent Reznor  
> Damian - Bo Burnham  
> Cillian - Cillian Murphy  
> Idony - Sofie Marceau  
> Lehn- Alexander skarsgard  
> Remme - Liev Schreiber  
> Sirus (mercades father) - Michael wincott  
> Mercades - Mia wasikowska  
> David - Hugh Dancy  
> Uahl - Jamie Campbell Bower  
> Phet - Michael Pitt  
> Kort- Kodi smidt-mcphee  
> Tetra- Keke Palmer  
> Sentil- Amandla Stenberg  
> Palchuk- Daniel Brühl  
> Gallo - Mark Strong  
> Vincent - Mads mikkleson  
> Ebram Brackus - Djimon hounsou  
> Mirabel - lily Cole  
> Oliver - Matt Smith  
> Julian - Gaspard Ulliel
> 
>  
> 
> The following is being posted completely rough draft due to life being chaotic in the midst of my attempt. I will fine to and steam line asap.

"As I look in your eyes, my fear begins to fade, recalling all of the times…

I have died...  
And will die...

It's all right.  
I don't mind."

-H. Tool

 

 

 

This is not the beginning…

I fell.  
I fell and I finally…  
Where?  
I fell but not here.  
Where is here?  
Pulling in a breath.  
Letting her eyes roll behind the lids.  
Unready to open them.  
Mind afraid of being admitted to an institution.  
Body promising otherwise.  
This is not a hospital.  
Where then?  
Her tongue rolling.  
I should be tasting blood.  
A lot of it.  
You should also be dead.  
Who says you're not?  
Then where is the blood?  
Where is the hole?  
She's tongue into the back of her mouth, as far as she can, telling herself if the gun slipped at the last moment…  
It didn't.  
Then what am I doing alive?  
Prove that you are.  
I can breathe.  
I can feel a bed under me.  
My heart is…  
Racing.  
Excruciating.  
Burning.  
She's starting to panic, it's rising when the door opens to her right and it's closed before the sound hits hear ears.  
A gentle presence.  
This being sends comfort through her entirety.  
A peace she's never known.

“I'm here. You don't have to open your eyes yet. The room you're in is far from the place you chose your end. No one will bother you here. If you would like me to leave, you've but to motion this. My name is Wayland, I saw you fall. Watched to see if the change was needed at once. You took my blood, willingly. I chose to wait till you were protected to attempt your rebirth. You have been here a full two days now, nearly a third with the hour. Your wounds have healed. You are...not as you were before. This will be difficult, perhaps even devastating for you. I hope this will pass. I chose to offer you another life, my wish is that this one will be a better fit, at least enough you do not chose to end again.”  
His voice, a ticking clock.  
His weight on the bed very near.  
She's smelling things, blood, food, wood, clothing, so intensely that they are easily discernible.  
The intense emotional pulls are much harder to deal with.  
Pain, burning pain over every inch of her dermis. It's enough to want to scratch her skin off, but now, somehow her mind feels roomy.  
So much extra capacity for the senses means pain can be dealt with so differently than any human.  
The draws are intense; pain, hunger, anger, stress, lust.  
His voice alone is a heat and a high.  
He sounds unbelievable, beautiful.  
Her hand is buried in the mattress, burned in actually and she doesn't know how.  
Why?  
She's slipping her hand out of the self made hand holds, trying to find this delicious being that is inches from her.  
He's softly breathing, hovering over her, it's very pleasant.  
“Are you looking for me?”  
She clenched her eyelids, reaching.  
He leans closer, she can feel him right above her.  
“I remember the beginning. You're overcome. Please move slow and sure. You can harm yourself if you act only on emotion. I'm going to take your hand. Focus on my touch. Work on keeping your breathing gentle. Focus…listen and focus…”  
He slides his fingers over hers, slowly into her palm.  
The level of pleasure is like that of being against him bare.  
She gasps and her teeth set.  
He would draw back but not wanting to startle her, he grips her hand smoothly.  
“It's different. The feeling, the nerves. I think for you it may be harder. You are still half human, less numb. Is this too much? Tell me to leave if you can't handle it.” His voice without worry, promising he'd understand the dismissal.  
“Don’t Leave.” Softly, pleading.  
The first time she's spoken since the change. His eyes are wide.  
Her attachment to him is raw.  
Can she feel the bond? Does she know where to look?  
“I'm right here. Can you feel me? Not with your hand.”  
She's listening, almost ready to shake her head when she hears, You were always going to end up here, one way or Another.  
His voice, within her.  
Clear and easy as if falling on her ears.  
Something within her, feels like her consciousness is not just expanded on its own, but also within him.  
As if tied to him, a bridge between brains.  
So attached that she can feel his emotions alongside hers.  
He's struggling to be patient, he's worried.  
The worry, she feels connections back and forth between them, steel cables impossibly thick and warm.  
The largest to the head and heart.  
He's worried he harmed her in the change.  
This worry is bound to love.  
He loves her.  
She can now feel his gaze on her is terrible with it's heat.  
She is the most important creature to him.  
This is mirrored back.  
This is why his touch is so exquisite.  
They are bound in a way that makes family, love, marriage, seem a passing fling.  
Blood of my blood  
She's thinking, and hears his breath catch.  
I love you in an old tongue.  
She's said this to him without knowing, thinking it at him with ferocity.  
“Mercades.” He's suddenly taken off guard, his free hand finds her face, cupping her cheek and she can't help her eyes slipping open desperate to find him.  
Hazel eyes, pale skin.  
Nearly black hair falling forward over his forehead, lips parted.  
He's in shock.  
“So beautiful.” She breathes, and he's blinking at her.  
“Yes…” he agrees thumb sliding over her lips.  
She's whole.  
Everything sunken and dying, refreshed.  
Brand new.  
Her long curls thick and gleaming.  
Honey brown eyes so heated while consuming him.  
Heart shaped face pale like him, but the cheeks and lips so full of color.  
Rose blush.  
His child.  
“What am I?” She's not afraid.  
She's reaching her hands out, slowly.  
The need to touch him is painful, he's taking her hand to his face, helping her as she's shaking.  
“Your part of me now.” The reverence.  
She's too high on emotion to be embarrassed or startled by this.  
She feels it implicitly.  
“How long?”  
This is her expecting pain. Nothing good for keeps.  
His smile.  
Oh.  
Knocks the wind from her chest.  
“Forever.”  
And she's pulling him, by the neck and shoulder onto her, trying to kiss him.  
He slips his arms under her, scooping her up against him tight enough to restrict breathing.  
His heavy relieved sigh as she kisses every inch she can reach.  
He's feeling it all, but also reading her.  
She's sound.  
He's not hiding this.  
She sees now the change was painful enough she could have lost whatever she was.  
“I'm still here.” She tells him. To reassure.  
Every memory, even those badly damaging, are intact.  
He's lifting her, nodding into her neck.  
He's thinking so many things at once she's trying to pick through the racing images to see what's next.  
A bath, clean clothes, food.  
Something new.  
A blood offering.  
She's confused and repelled even as she feels her new form is craving this.  
No escape from blood shed.  
Down the hall, clutching him tightly, he's opening a door to a bathroom that's simple but beautiful.  
Still in his arms, he can hold her in one while turning on the tap.  
She feels her filthy clothes, their discomfort now in the forefront.  
He's running his fingers through her hair, shaking debris loose onto the floor.  
Dirt, dried blood and her old skin.  
She's shed her old skin like a reptile, thick and scarred falling out of her curls.  
She actually sees a long stretch that was from a deep bullet graze, long healed and hidden.  
She's feeling his fingers deftly unbutton her jacket, she can't help the heat rising at this.  
He pauses, “Should I stop?” He's smoothing her cheek, looking into her eyes concerned. “I don't know.” Honest.  
Her body feels like it might ignite.  
“Are you in pain.”  
She doesn't register physical pain the same as he does, so she almost lies.  
Then stops.  
He'll feel through her.  
“It burns.” She whispers, somehow imagining this is part of the change.  
“Where?” He's now hurriedly undressing her, trying to find the source.  
“Everywhere.”  
He stops, startled.   
She shows him mentally how her entire length of flesh is like warm coals.  
He puts his hand over her bare chest, in the middle to feel her heart.  
“Pull it here.” He tells her, looking serious and sure but his thoughts are nervous.  
She closes her eyes and feels her pulse, it's her blood, not just her skin the liquid is driving this heat, and forces it to rush up.  
Back to its origin.  
This only eases the pain, her entire body still raw.  
He feels this, sorrow within him at war with a flood of triumph.  
He is certain her change was flawless now, when the others was not.  
She holds this, concerned.  
She's not his first turn.  
He quickly finishes his started task, seeing she felt this thought.  
She's suddenly bare and trying to maintain by pulling with her heart.  
Before she can protest he's slipping her in the water. It hisses and steam fills the room.  
She sees now his hands healing.  
She scorched him.  
She wants to apologize, blinks and before she can he's shaking his head.  
This is all new.  
She's staring at him, cream skin.  
Hard jawline.  
Hair like black silk.  
She wants to pull him into the tub with her. Doesn't know why these feelings are so incredibly demanding.  
Second nature like breathing.  
He swallows hard, his brain a mixed up mess.  
He feels her need, matches it.  
Something's in the way.  
He's aching.  
Her thoughts start to trail to into trouble.  
She must be pushing him away with this intensity.  
How to rein it in?  
He kissing her at once, her heart stops.  
“You've done nothing wrong.”  
She's staring at him, trying to find a way to convince him to climb on top of her without making this wall of guilt he's built thicker.  
“Every human emotion is multiplied. The peak of humanity. You are now a perfected version of your former self. This need, is good, for good reason and proves you're sane.”  
She nods, looking around the room. Her eyes incredible.  
The steam is beautiful.  
Layer of airborne moisture.  
She focuses on this to try and push away her desire for him.  
He feels this, staring.  
“Why did you kill yourself Mercades?” He sounds miserable.  
It's not from the act itself, it's layers of reasons and he's not forthcoming.  
Maybe she's not ready to hear or understand.  
“I wanted to sleep.”  
He's put his head in his hands, waiting for her anger.  
He's taken this forever.  
If he has done his job, she'll never rest.  
She's kneeling in the tub, reaching out to him, drawn by his pain.  
It must be stopped.  
Now she's found bravery.  
She's grasping his forearm, he's hesitating, now turning to her.  
Eyes that seem to weep without tears.  
She's removing his jacket.  
Unbuttoning his shirt.  
Fighting her emotion.  
Don't burn him again.  
She's unbelted, undone, slipped off pants.  
It's easy to see his conflict now.  
Mentally aching.  
Physically raging.  
She's thinking, the floor too hard and cold.  
She pulls his fingertips into the water, waiting to see if this temperature is safe.  
Not trusting her skin.  
He is now eye level with her, and for the first time she allows herself to meet his eyes.  
They are melting.  
She blinks, her spine tingling.  
Waiting for him to give her the answer.  
When he doesn't answer, just bores into her with his eyes, she lets her mind reach into him to find a split.  
He's mourning someone deeply.  
Someone he's wronged.  
Will continue to wrong.  
It's because of her.  
The other half meets, matches and devourers her needs.  
She must choose.  
“No more guilt.” She whispers, his arm still in her hands.  
She's pushing into him everything she feels. His jaw clenches.  
Civil war temporarily over.  
He's climbing into the tub, his shoulders squared, chest high.  
Eyes like knives, his teeth bared as he's so fast finding his way inside of her.  
She's blinking, shuddering while she inhales.  
He cast off everything to be in this moment.  
He's gripping her hips, his thrusts throwing the water back and forth so furiously, in a moment it will be spilling over.  
She's trying not to scream.  
Painful, intense.  
More excruciatingly delicious than imagined.  
The water is crashing to the floor, she's holding onto his shoulders trying to stay above water, unable to handle the intensity, close to coming but being thrown off over and over by focusing on something different each moment.  
He's too much to take in.  
Finally, he's climbing back onto her, forcing her between himself and the wall, his eyes fierce.  
Once she can't move he strokes smoothly, trying to calm her down enough to focus.  
Close your eyes  
He wants her to just feel.  
It's hard with everything so jarring but she does, and he slides his right hand down to cup her ass, the other grips the edge of the tub for an anchor.  
Now it's the feeling of him pinning her into his thrusts that has her on the edge.  
To go from unsure he would fuck her to not being able to escape his penetration she's undone.  
The last full thrust into the hilt, head flattening against her cervix she tightens hard.  
Her mouth opens into a soft cry and her fingers grip like her cunt, her body pressing against him rigid.  
He's knocked breathless and let's go, focusing on her orgasm so he can come with her.  
On her fifth aftershock, her teeth find her lower lip as she trembles and he's shooting into her, it pleases her so much she feels a ripple hit so hard she can't stop shaking.  
He softly pants as he comes down, eyes closed enjoying.  
He slowly rests his head on her chest, near the hollow of her throat.  
He's trying to push away the thoughts coming back, can't.  
I wasn't supposed to be your first  
He knows she'd been a virgin.  
She's blinking, wanting to know who if not him.  
But it doesn't matter.  
“But you were.” And this is said sounding so complete that he goes blank within.  
Just letting them feel.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> There is more waiting.
> 
> Soon.


	3. I will follow you down

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> I was Ill for a time. Better now or enough so to continue.

After what seems like hours, likely minutes, he's wanting to feed her.  
She doesn't want him to move, but feels so hollow it hurts.  
“It's from your becoming. You're depleted. You'll need both.”  
Food.  
Blood.  
She's unsure even as her body melts at the idea of a small mouth full of his liquid.  
This can't be real.  
“I'm dreaming.”  
She's hazy, happy but sure this is just her mind dying on the pavement, giving her an experience to go out on.  
He's lifting her, grabs a towel then peeks at her with a new comradery after having her body for himself.  
“Do you think you'll burn this if it's against your skin?”  
He doesn't care, but the look is so teasing she smiles unrestricted.  
This is another new emotion.  
Pure happiness.  
She shakes her head, telling him internally she's calm.  
Wrapping it around her, it's so huge even on her tall frame she's covered, and starts to gently dry her.  
She stops him, opening the cloth and enfolding him in it against her.  
Sighing she's just focusing on his flesh on hers.  
Thinking again and again she's never seen a man so beautiful.  
His smile. Quiet, a hint of serious sweetness.  
“It's from the bond. You'll always see everything, everyone as more now, the bond with me is there to ensure you hold me above others. It's mutual.”  
She's starting to touch every inch of him, less afraid now that he's been inside her.  
His skin is smooth, firm, cool.  
Perfect, nearly flawless.  
His arms thick but toned, though she's almost his height, he's much broader.  
Dropping the towel to smooth her hands over his shoulders, he smiles enough to seem on the edge of laughing, he catches it and tosses it aside.  
This makes her meet his eyes fast, and his humor dried up.   
Swallows.  
His hands on her waist tighten hard, she feels him trying to hold onto to composure.  
She has to touch his face, another need.  
His neck, collar bones, throat.  
Chin, jawline, ears.  
When she reaches the nape of his hair with one hand and lips with the other he shivers a little and closes his eyes.  
She feels his emotion rise so high within him he's seeing himself lifting her against the wall, filling her up again.  
Her stomach flutters, spine tingling.  
He's drawing breath sharp and deep.  
Blinks once to focus.  
“Come.”  
And he's taking her hand, leading her to a new room.  
His.  
She's trembling, he turns to assess, knows it's anticipation.  
His smile is from flattery, the way she craves him a huge ego boost.  
He's opening a closet, finding things for her to wear.  
Over his shoulder, pants and button down appear, he turns back, is about to hand her what he's chosen, lets himself appraise her naked first.  
His hands slip up her belly, coming to rest under the swells of her breasts, lifting gently.  
As if to check their weight.  
Her eyes look dizzy.  
His smirk appears, then as if he can't help himself his tongue slips over her, navel to collar bones, pauses between the hand fulls he's cupping.  
She's panting now and he gets a flash.  
This dark haired blue eyed creature with a mournful face.  
Wayland swallows like he's been force-fed a mouthful of glass.  
He pulls her to him and begins to dress her, she's gripping this image, curious.  
“Who?”  
He feels close to Wayland.  
A lost love?  
His first child?  
He kisses her tenderly, then helps her put on the pants.  
They hang loose and are just a bit too long.  
“One day.” Is all he says, the tone so pained she doesn't press him.  
He's going back to the closet to bring her a belt.  
“So lithe.” He tells her with a smile that is proud.  
He leaves the button down open enough he can see her chest nicely.  
He's pulling her hand again, a physical way of saying, stay near, and is choosing things for himself.  
Struggling to clear his mind.  
She takes the clothes from him, he's surprised for a second, then she's dressing him.  
Thinking, me, focus on me. I'm here.  
His eyes looks so full at this moment she knows he heard her.  
“I am trying. I will try.”

The kitchen is sleek, Wayland seems to favor beauty and simplicity.  
Every color dark, every surface moving between textured to silky and back.  
He's standing in front of a massive icebox taller than he is and twice as wide.  
“Tell me what you'll eat.”  
She's blinking, unsure.  
He holds his hand out, she lilts to him still shocked by her own dexterity.  
She can't think on food, he's the only thing her mind refuses to let go.  
He chuckles soundlessly, his breath fragrant on the air, it's intoxicating.  
“Can you not think of anything?” He murmurs.  
She lets her mouth curl slightly, and her hands find his chest, smoothing up his shoulders.  
“Can't stop.” She whispers haunted so beautifully.  
He takes her cheek in his right palm, thumb on her mouth.  
“You want me?” His voice so dark her spine straightens, stomach ripples so wonderfully.  
She nods imperceptibly to anyone human, and he pops his thumb in her mouth, presses his skin flat on her tongue.  
Her eyes close, images flooding her.  
He's party to them and he shudders, then leans in, “Feel the texture of my skin, use your tongue on my fingerprint. Your senses are better than any predator, because you are one. Can you taste me?”   
She's gripping his shoulders hard, another soft nod and he's pressing his thumb over her canine which though unchanged in appearance is sharp as any well honed blade.  
It's so easily penetrating his skin, and he lifts back up, laying the appendage on her tongue once more.  
His blood is so exquisite.  
Spicy, smokey, cold and an after edge that's like snow and frigid air.  
She moans, it's so perfectly him.  
Through the bond, she feels that sharing blood is like slipping his length within her, he's so aroused from this small action.  
This only makes him taste better, it floods through her, lust on his blood and her lips close over his skin.  
His free hand is smoothing her up and down, lower back then hard over the curve of her backside, pressing her against him, feeling how hard he is.  
“Suck.” This is a command, with the same heat behind it that he'd use had his cock been in her mouth.  
She does and his blood pools in her, so good her knees give out and he's holding her up with one hand on, slightly under her ass, she's holding his shoulder to keep from falling.  
She's intoxicated, the only thing she can think of is getting him to drink from her.  
Fighting herself, she licks his thumb as she pulls it from her mouth, and throws her mouth against his, tongue in his mouth, pushing him against the large granite island.  
She purposely cuts her tongue against his teeth, hearing him moan, feeling it vibrate, hand finding his hair, pulling her fingers through, winding them up.  
Sucking her tongue hard into him, she's so on edge she wonders if she will climax.  
He scrapes his own tongue on her teeth, now their taste mingled, and he's lifting her, pulling her legs in place around him.

A flash.  
Blue eyes.

She's already losing him. His thoughts have shifted into that dark corner papered with regret deeper than skin. She's so frustrated against all reason she suddenly slaps his face. Is surprised by her action, both embarrassed and hurt by it, but his eyes circle wide and he spins her against the counter, hand taking her throat in such a raw sexual aggression he's clearly not sharing her concerns. "Oh, my blood, you are truly every fiber my mate." Panting under his glare she tries to kiss him and he tightens his grip on her shaking. "There will come a day, when you and I will right all this...and then, you'll bare my hunger, I've seen. How pleased you are...we are."  
In her mind he displays for her what seems to be a memory, and for him that's what it is now, only this is far far from now, and he looks different. "You look human."  
She murmurs, and his eyes narrow in curiosity   
"I do not see myself, what gives me this appearance?" She waits and replays his vision, flipping it for him and showing him his own face. He steps back, shaken.  
"What?" She's frantic even in her stillness. "You have seen this wrong." But his words hold no weight.  
She goes to shake her head, so sure, but her loyalty and trust in him far surpass herself faith, so she falters.  
He steps back to her, still frightened. "Mercades, your eyes see me...how you believe me to be."  
He's grasping, she's not sure what to say, afraid to displease him. "I have, never loved anyone or thing with this, weight. I...Revere you."  
And within, but you do not look that way to me now  
He's suddenly gripping her shoulders so hard it's caught her breathless. "There will come a day where what you have seen will be explained. What I believe this is, it is dangerous." She's caught in his fear and her heart is galloping. "Do not ever attempt to cause a change in me at your own expense." He's so stern, fear striking, but within, despite her loyalty, that fierce streak lives on and she will not comprise. "Was it dangerous to save me?"  
His face turns slightly sideways as his eyes blink. "That is done."  
She lowers her gaze and her voice firmly but not without care.  
"What you have shown me, has already happened, in that time."   
His face goes hard, "All is not set. Everything changeable."  
She ignores this, "You were perfect. I felt, saw... tasted."  
His mouth drops open and a low moan in his chest shivers her.

"If I did this, it was a small repayment for every second I breath now." She swears.

"Mercades."  
His fear in time to his need.  
She swallows, "I will never promise not to shield you. I'd swallow another bullet."

"And if it means a final end?" He's so distraught now, his face falls towards her chest. She catches his face in her hands, "I would be so lucky, to know that you lived."

He sighs raggedly, trying to hold back his next words impossibly, "I will follow you down."

And within she feels his devotion is just as boundless as hers.

**Author's Note:**

> I will post the next chapter shortly.


End file.
